


Orientation

by stjarna



Series: Fitzsimmons Appreciation Week (Sept. 12-18, 2016) [2]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: First Meetings, Fitzsimmons Appreciation Week, Gen, How They Met, Pre-Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D., SHIELD Academy, Tumblr: thefitzsimmonsnetwork, beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 00:39:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8035420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stjarna/pseuds/stjarna
Summary: Time: Late August 2004, Orientation weekPlace: S.H.I.E.L.D. AcademyReason: ‘Cause there can never be too many stories about how they met.Inspiration: 03x07 “Chaos Theory”Jemma Simmons: “Do you remember when we first met? I do. You were so quiet and pasty, and so incredibly smart, handsome ... You must have been so annoyed, me following you around all the time.”Leopold Fitz: “No. Never.”





	Orientation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 3 (Favorite Relationships || Writing Prompt: Beginning) of Fitzsimmons Appreciation Week Sept. 12-18, 2016 (organized by The Fitzsimmons Network)

He is standing against the wall of the large, crowded room, a glass of water in his hand. His eyes wander across the crowd: people socializing, intermingling, chatting. Smalltalk. Useless chit-chat. He feels nervous and uncomfortable; too many people.

“Leopold Fitz, is it?”

The chipper voice startles him, making him spill water over his shirt. He instinctively turns his head in the direction of the noise and stares at a smiling young woman with long, brown, wavy hair. She looks about sixteen or seventeen—his age. Absentmindedly, he tries to wipe away the water that is seeping through the fabric of his shirt. He feels a clingy wet trail on his chest. The woman is extending her hand, seemingly unaware of the mess she caused him to make. Bewildered and somewhat involuntarily—guided by nothing but automated politeness—he switches his glass from his right to his left and reaches out his hand. The woman grabs it and shakes it enthusiastically.

“It’s such a pleasure to meet you,” she says. She keeps a firm grip on his right hand while beginning to gesture with her left, “I read your dissertation. A truly fascinating read! The conclusions you draw in your final chapter about the possible application of your design for bioengineering… brilliant! Truly brilliant. I came to realize that your work may actually allow me to create a tool that I sort of dreamt up as the ultimate step of _my_ Ph.D. research. So, just imagine, how thrilled I was when I saw you standing here. I recognized you from the photograph on your Alma Mater’s website. Photographic memory. I see it once, and I can’t seem to get rid of it afterwards. Blessing and a curse. Well, you probably have the same problem, would be my guess. Most people in this room quite possibly. It’s a very common occurrence for people with exceptionally high IQs.”

He stares at her, unsure how to react, unsure if he is supposed to say anything in return, unsure if he can find a way out of it.

“Oh, I can’t believe we’re finally here,” she continues and lets go of his hand, now using both hands to gesture toward the room, “Isn’t it the most amazing opportunity? Just to think that we will be learning from some of the most brilliant minds on this planet. And at the same time, it will allow us to collaborate with scientists from various fields. I mean, had we not been accepted to S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy, I would quite possibly never had had the opportunity to meet you and suggest a collaboration. I would gladly provide you with a copy of my dissertation. I believe you would see quite clearly how our areas of research would complement each other.”

The seemingly endless flood of words finally forces her to take a deep breath, and he takes the opportunity to get a word in.

“I don’t usually collaborate with other engineers,” he mumbles shyly, almost apologetically.

“Oh, I’m not an engineer,” she replies and points at herself, “I’m a biochemist. Did I not mention that? Well, it would be quite typical of me actually to forget that little detail. Once I start talking about science or my research, I sometimes get ahead of myself. My sincere apologies. So, yes, I’m a biochemist—well, primarily, that is—and for my second Ph.D. I’ve worked extensively with various aspects of collecting forensic data. And well, while a lot of sensors and tools already exist, it is my conviction that in order to gather the most comprehensive picture, it would be necessary to combine data from various sensors as quickly as possible, and furthermore to develop new sensors. Well, anyways, this is where I believe, your research and the interconnected drone system you hinted at in the conclusion of your dissertation would fit in quite nicely.”

He points at her, as a light bulb in his head finally goes off, “You’re Jemma Simmons! I’ve read your theses…thes _es_ , plural,” he adds for clarification.

Her eyes widen, “I neglected to introduce myself, didn’t I? Oh, gosh, how embarrassing. My grandmother would give me _quite_ some talking to if she had heard that. Always so focused on proper British politeness and etiquette. Oh, she would be so disappointed right about now. Again. I’m terribly sorry.”

“That’s alright,” he mumbles.

“I’ve been talking your ear off this entire time, haven’t I? It’s the new surroundings. Like I said, I sometimes get ahead of myself when I’m excited… or nervous. … I guess it’s a bit of both. It was also so nice and comforting to see a fellow countryman. … Not that I would dare to equate England with Scotland, obviously, but considering that we are certainly outnumbered by the Americans—which is of course understandable, considering our location or simply taking population numbers into account—Well, it was nice to have a piece of home so-to-speak…sort of… again… not trying to equate Scotland and England. … Oh gosh. I’m still doing it. Just rambling on! So sorry,” she pauses, “I think I’ll leave you to yourself now. It would be lovely to maybe chat some more in a quieter environment. Like I said, I would be very much interested in collaborating with you.”

“Yes,” he replies, “I could _definitely_ see how my research would be beneficial for you.”

She frowns at him and he realizes how his previous statement may have come across as insulting. Quickly he adds, “…and vice versa.”

Her face lightens up again, “Well, another time then,” she says optimistically.

He smiles shyly and nods.

She is about to leave, when he interjects, “You know, you don’t have to apologize for talking my ear off. I’m not much of a talker myself, so you’re not really interrupting me so if you want to continue rambling on a bit more, that’s fine. It’s not like anyone else has talked to me.”

“That is very kind of you,” she says, and he notices how her eyes seem to sparkle when she smiles, “I’m not _always_ like that. I repeat myself, but the new surroundings. Excitement. All that.”

She takes a deep breath, “There are _quite_ a lot of people here, aren’t there? Almost a bit too much for my taste.”

“Yes,” he notes, “That’s why I’m standing here. At least I don’t have anyone behind me.”

Her stomach grumbles loudly and she chuckles, “Oh my. Did you hear that?”

He nods shyly.

“I’m really quite parched. I arrived here yesterday evening. So jetlag and settling into my room and all that. I’ve barely eaten a thing. Would you care to join me in my quest to find the buffet table? I saw someone holding a little prosciutto baguette bite, earlier. It looked _quite_ appetizing.”

“Oh, I love prosciutto! I could use some food myself.”

They begin to slowly walk across the room side by side, carefully maneuvering between clusters of people.

“You know,” she says, “if you like prosciutto, you should try my signature sandwich some day: French baguette, prosciutto, mozzarella—buffalo mozzarella, of course—and pesto aioli, _which_ I make from scratch. I’ve perfected the recipe over the years. I love how even the slightest changes to a recipe can make such a big difference. I mean. It’s almost like science. Well. No, it _is_ science, really. Anyway, you will have to try it sometime.”

“It sounds _delicious_ ,” he comments and feels his mouth watering, “Only thing _I_ can make is scrambled eggs, sausages, and toast. I used to try and make breakfast for my mum on weekends. Since she did everything else for me,” he notes and his mind briefly drifts off to his mum.

“It’s just you and your mum then?” she asks, bringing him back to the crowded room.

“Yes. My father left when she was pregnant,” he replies matter-of-factly.

“Oh!”

Her surprised tone makes him stop abruptly in his tracks, “Was that too much information? I’m not always good at gauging socially acceptable responses.”

She stops herself and turns to face him, “You might be asking the wrong person here. In fact, my initial question may actually have been a bit too personal and inappropriate.”

They stare at each other in awkward silence for a moment, when his eyes catch a glimpse of the buffet table, “There it is!” he exclaims and takes a few energetic steps past her and toward the table.

She quickly catches up with him and they stop in front of the table where various silver plates are lined up.

“Oh look, the prosciutto bites,” she says excitedly and points at one of the platters.

A few minutes later they find themselves in another corner of the room, little plates stacked with appetizers in their hands.

“So, a forensic data collection system using drones,” Fitz says, picking up their earlier conversation. He shoves a cracker with cheese in his mouth.

Jemma swallows the grape she has been chewing before she replies, “Yes, exactly.”

“Sensors to create a 3D image of the scene. Dimensions, textures,” Fitz brainstorms and grabs another appetizer from his plate.

“And DNA sampling. Infrared. Radiation levels, matter density,” she continues, “I even believe it should be possible to develop a sensor that could detect smell.” She takes another bite and quickly devours it, “My current theory is that seven drones would be needed. Each with its own capabilities that then scan and analyze the forensic evidence at hand and transmit the data to a tablet of some sort, from which the drone handler can then organize, classify, and prioritize everything.”

“All wirelessly controlled.” Fitz suggests.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Seven,” Fitz ponders, “Yes, seven sounds like a good number.”

He chuckles.

“What?” she asks.

“Like the seven dwarves,” he snorts, “The smelling one could be Sneezy.”

She laughs, “Doc could be responsible for scanning dimensions and creating a 3D model that can then be used as the basis to project the whereabouts of other forensic data with their exact location in the room. He would be the alpha dwarf so to speak… I mean alpha drone.”

He laughs.

Other people don’t usually make him laugh, but she seems to share his sense of humor; the one that others don’t seem to get.

“No. Dwarf is good!” he notes, “I like that idea. There must be an acronym in there. I mean, they both start with _d_. Drones. Dwarves, right?”

“Yes,” she says excitedly and begins brainstorming, “Drones …With?”

“Wireless. They’ll be Wireless!” he chimes in.

“Yes, Drones Wireless … activate? … Oh. Forensic. The F could be for forensic!”

“R for retrieve!”

“Drones Wirelessly Activated to Retrieve Forensics?” she suggests.

“Automated! Automated is better!”

“Yes, perfect. That’s perfect.”

She pauses.

“Well, now that we’ve already come up with a name for it…”

“…it would be really a shame if we wouldn’t work together to accomplish this.” he completes her sentence.

“I agree.”

“We should talk to our professors,” he comments, “I mean, tomorrow, when classes actually start.”

“Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship!”

“It’s Leo,” he says confused.

“What? Oh! No no. It’s a quote. From _Casablanca_. My grandmother made me watch it. _Every_ time I visited her. Her favorite movie. … And obviously I didn’t want to imply that our potential _professional_ collaboration would automatically make us friends. Oh gosh, I’m being terribly inappropriate again, aren’t I? Maybe I should simply accept that pop culture references are not my forte. Unless it’s Harry Potter or Doctor Who maybe.”

“I can’t wait for the next book to come out!” he exclaims at the mention of the wizard, “Can’t believe we will have to wait until next year.”

“I know! But at least she finally revealed the title of the book. Isn’t that exciting? _The Half-Blood Prince_. I mean I have so many theories.”

“Yes, yes, definitely! Oh, and _Doctor Who_! Productions for the revival must be in full swing by now. I mean, March is really not _that_ far away.”

“Very true!” she nods in agreement, “Did you hear that Davies approached J. K. Rowling to write for the series.”

“No. Really? Oh that would be magnificent!”

“Yes! I believe she declined though,” she says with a frown.

“Oh, bloody hell.” He pauses, “Well, that means more time to work on Harry Potter, I suppose.”

“Good point! So who do _you_ think Half-Blood Prince refers to?”

“Well my initial thought…”

“Jemma Simmons and Leopold Fitz, is it?”

Startled by their own names, they both turn around to face a slender, dark-skinned woman.

“I’m Agent Weaver, Head of the Science and Technology division here at S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy. I was very excited to see that you have accepted our invitation to join the Academy. I have followed your careers with great interest. This platform is certainly a fantastic opportunity for bright young minds like yourselves.”

“Yes,” Jemma and Fitz say slowly in unison, still somewhat shook up by the sudden interruption.

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer. Just wanted to take the opportunity to introduce myself and welcome you. It seemed as if you were having a lively conversation. My apologies for interrupting it.”

“Yes,” Jemma nods enthusiastically, “yes, we were just talking…”

“…about collaborating on a bioengineering project.” Fitz adds quickly and points back and forth between himself and Jemma, thinking that might be more impressive than discussing fiction and television.

“Yes,” Jemma looks at Fitz and nods in agreement. She turns back to Agent Weaver and says, “Drones!”

“Wirelessly automated to retrieve forensics,” Fitz adds.

“Precisely,” Jemma confirms.

“Oh really?” Weaver comments, “That’s impressive. Classes have not even begun yet.”

“Yes, well,” Jemma chuckles, “It’s never a bad idea to get a head start.”

“No time like the present,” Fitz adds.

“I suppose that’s true,” Weaver concurs, “Welcome to the Academy, cadets” and nodding to each of them she adds, “Fitz. Simmons.”


End file.
